


Request Of A Sick Kid

by SpitfireRose



Series: Snapshots In Time [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Caretaker Noctis, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect, One Shot, Panic Attacks, Poor Prompto, Sickfic, sick prompto, throwing up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 14:11:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13342905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpitfireRose/pseuds/SpitfireRose
Summary: Prompto is seriously sick, wanting nothing more than for someone to care for him. Noctis takes it upon himself to be that someone (with a little help from Ignis).





	Request Of A Sick Kid

**Author's Note:**

> Request from noodle-of-sunshine on Tumblr for Promptis to the line of "you're coughing a lot.. are you okay?" 
> 
> Thank you for requesting, and I hope you enjoy :D

 

Too-sick-to-even-stand kids would’ve had their parents prevent them from going to school, quarantined in bed with heavy blankets and promises of soup. At least, that’s what Prompto’s always read in books and seen in movies - when he has free-time to actually indulge in such leisurely activities between his two part-time jobs, school, homework, and hanging out with Noct. His parents haven’t been home for four weeks straight, and if he’s honest with himself, he’d hate it if they were despite longing for someone, _anyone_ , to care for him like back when he was...

Seven. Eight, maybe. He doesn’t really remember whatever age it was before they deemed him old enough to be able to look after himself, coming back from elementary school to a note that they wouldn’t be back that night. Or for the next month, in fact, their return lasting not even a day before heading back to work once more.

But it’s okay, though. Prompto doesn’t want them wasting their precious home time tending to his bedridden butt with the nastiest flu in all Eos, despising the notion of burdening them to look after his sick ass after a decade of doing it alone. The blond’s already wasted his dwindled paychecks on the cheapest medicine he braved the outside world to purchase after hours of internal debate if he could afford even that after paying utilities with his hard-earned cash. They’d sent him money to cover that, of course, it just. Wasn’t enough. Hasn’t been for awhile, really, since the rates went up, but he’s not about to go and ask for more when he’s got all he could ask for.

A roof over his head.

* * *

 

School was a mistake.

Prompto’s drawing a blank of the journey from home to high school restroom. That’s...not good, but at least he made it in one piece despite feeling scattered into millions of tiny ones. If it wasn’t for that major math test, he wouldn’t have ventured out of bed. Except he still would have, because no school equals no Noct and Prompto can’t handle that subtraction from his life as shitty as he feels. He needs his only friend like he needs air, as wheezy as the intakes are that burn his clogged insides and makes his stomach do all sorts of flip flops in a feverish dance - nope, wait, that’s probably the crush threatening him into puking while roasting him alive. Maybe if he asks nicely, they’ll just let him take the test in here and catch up with Noct after.

It takes all the willpower to convince himself that he has to leave the stall he’s grown well-acquainted with over the past half hour when first period’s bell rings his ears more than the coughing and sneezing fits. Prompto pulls himself together albeit reluctantly, shambling over to the sinks to wash hands and face, and catching a zombie staring dully back at him. He takes the comparison back, undead looking way more alive than he does and feels.

He just stares and stares.

The bell goes off from far away, but Prompto doesn’t hear it.

Just the ‘thud’ of a body hitting the floor.

* * *

 

The tiles feel so cool through his sweat-soaked uniform.

The hand on his forehead is kinda nice, too.

Whatever keeps shaking him...that’s not cool or nice. Prompto wants to yell at them to knock it off, but all he can do is groan - a dry crack of sound that scratches his desert of a throat and triggers another hacking fit. Tears sting in the corners of his eyes, wishing more than anything to go back when everything was painless and quiet.

“You’re coughing a lot...are you okay....?” The source of the hand and shaking asks, a stupidly obvious question that he’d lie his way past if he could speak, but he _knows_ that voice. They’re soft, sincere, worried. Prompto doesn’t have to open his eyes to know it’s Noct, but he tries anyway. “Shit, Prom. Why’re you here?”

At school when he should be home? In the bathroom instead of flunking that math test? On the floor he doesn’t remember passing out on? He knows why he’s really here, cradled in their very arms like delicate treasure.

 _“N-Nn. Oct.”_ Prompto hopes he’s saying his name right, but his words are working about as well as his motor skills, unable to really lift an arm to so much as tug his best friend’s sleeve. Noct takes mercy, smoothing away damp blond strands before intertwining fingers together.

“Hang in there, buddy. I’ve got you.”

Prompto doesn’t remember much after that. Doesn’t remember Noct’s voice cracking at him to keep his eyes open while supporting a majority of his weight to the infirmary. Doesn’t remember the whispers and stares of classmates as they hobbled by, taking immense interest in listlessly watching his feet drag by as if treading through thick muck. Doesn’t remember Noct settling him gently on the cot, informing Nurse Clementia of everything he knows while worryingly watch as the physician performed her duties.

Prompto doesn’t want to remember the phone ringing and ringing and ringing at the sympathetic young woman trying to get ahold of his parents. He could’ve told them not to worry, that it’s a lost cause, but he still can’t talk even after water. He just wants to go back to the painless quiet, lulled by gentle touches and Noct’s voice whispering that Specs is on the way.

* * *

 

It must have all been a dream because Prompto wakes up back in bed feeling so dehydrated and as shitty as ever that he could cry but not from the lack of liquid. Of course that was too good to be true. How stupid was he? Stupid, stupid fever. Stupid Prompto. It’s like trying to direct his body from lightyears away with faulty controls, memory failing him as he tries to maneuver himself from bedroom to kitchen with eyes barely opened. Everything hurts, more than just flu symptoms, and he curses it all as he stubs his toe on the couch he can’t recall existing. A questioning noise edges in the foggy haze, but he keeps moving.

Bumbling and tripping into walls and furniture, but moving.

Prompto doesn’t know how he’s managed to grasp a glass without dropping it from the cabinet that seems cleaner and more organized. Turning on the faucet, Prompto zones out until water sloshes over his fingers, nearly letting go from delayed reaction to shut it off. He sways on his feet in turning around, intent on completing the quest to return to bed with overflowing cup when suddenly there’s a Noctis in the kitchen.

 _Noctis_. Prompto’s in _his_ kitchen. In _his_ apartment.

“Prom-”

The glass slips from his useless grip, and he stupidly goes to pick it back up as if it didn’t just break into a zillion shards. The action’s too quick on queasy stomach that brings him falling hard on his knees, Noct shouting something as nausea threatens to wring his gut out like a wet towel. Noct’s somehow at his side, clutching his hands that hover so dangerously close to sharp fragments.

“It’s okay. Don’t cry. Don’t apologize. It’s okay.” He thinks he hears him say in a voice both a whisper and a shout. Prompto doesn’t remember doing either of those things, but his face is streaming wet and he’s vaguely aware of rambling, neither unstoppable no matter how he tries.

He’s wrong again, tasting stomach acid as he hiccups up bile that dribbles down his chin all over clothes that aren’t even _his_.

“Shit-”

Whatever Noct’s going to yell at him about, Prompto doesn’t stick around to catch the disgusted comments he deserves. Ripping his hands out of his grip, he scrambles to his feet and bolts for the bathroom. At least he makes it there in time now that he knows where his pathetic self is. Crying more than anything over the porcelain bowl, the blond mostly dry heaves between broken sobs. He doesn’t know what he wanted, but knows it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Shouldn’t have ever been.

A gentle hand comes after a moment, rubbing slow circles over his trembling back and Prompto just weeps as it’s joined by another, letting himself be pulled into Noct’s arms without so much a sliver of resistance. He really should protest. He’s going to get him all gross, but swears he hears murmuring in his ears that Noct doesn’t care about that, and the tears keep on falling.

“Hey, I brought water. Try to drink up, okay?”

He does with Noct’s help, shaking so bad and with fear that he’ll break it, but the Prince doesn’t seem to mind. It’s probably just his imagination of how relieved he looks when the glass is emptied, setting it aside before feeling his forehead. If he wasn’t so out of it, he’d be embarrassed at how he leans into the cool touch and whines when it retreats.

“Sssh, I’m right here. You’re okay. I’m just gonna get a bath started, alright? That’s what Iggy does when I’m sick.”

Prompto nods, not completely comprehending, but understanding all he needs to know.

Noct is right here, and he’ll be okay.

* * *

 

He must be ill to not even care when assisted in stripping down, baring his disgusting stretch marks to Noct who doesn’t even take notice when taking a hand in easing him into the tub of warm lavender. Prompto catches bits and pieces of what happened at school, of Noct’s concern of his absence despite being spotted by a classmate, and the panic of finding him passed out in the bathroom.

The part of his unresponsive parents is glossed over, frustration obvious even though Noct refuses to say anything. Continuing on, he soothes the blond’s anxiety of having missed the test and work by the Advisor’s promise of seeing to it. With Ignis on the job, there’s nothing to fret over except the overwhelming guilt of how he’s going to repay him for pulling strings.

Oh, and breaking one of the glasses and puking all over Noct’s clothes. Prompto doesn’t doubt that kindness will take one-eighty at that once he finds out, and after he’s tried so hard to gain the unreadable man’s approval.

“Prom? Hey, it’s okay. Iggy was really worried about you. He _wanted_ to. Don’t sweat it - except you should? Like, just the fever. Not Specs. He made some soup for when you’re hungry, too. It’s in the fridge since you were sleeping.” Noct makes a face at that, soup in question clearly loaded with vegetables, sour expression melting away into a soft fondness as he looks over Prompto about to burst into tears again.

“How about this? I’ll go warm it back up, and we can watch that tv series you like? Or you can sleep, which I’m cool with, too. You don’t have to go back to your place at all, you can just stay here with me - uh, if you want.”

He’s never wanted anything more, chomping down on his bottom lip with a sharp nod to prevent more crying. Noct just smiles, and it’s the most beautiful that Prompto has ever seen.

* * *

 

A soak, spare pajamas, and soup later, Prompto is curled up with Noct on the couch in a bundle of blankets, tucked beneath the latter’s arm. There’s an impressive pile of tissues on his left, having sneezed and coughed his way through at least a half dozen boxes before handed a pleasantly hot mug of whatever tea Noct had found in the cupboards. He’s dozed off a few times, beverage carefully taken before spilled, and returned once more awake. Prompto doesn’t remember how many times it’s been, only that he finally gets to the bottom after his favorite show’s first season. Maybe the second. Third, possibly. The details are about as fuzzy as the cocoon of blankets.

“You wanna lay down?” Noct’s voice is soft, a bit teasing with how he practically is already, and Prompto nods. “Okay, hang on.”

They shift a bit, Prince surprisingly doing all the work for once in adjusting them into a much better position to where he’s on his back, Prompto snug in his arms with head on his chest.

“You alright? Breathing good?”

He hums, barely conscious to even nod.

“Wanna keep watching?”

“ _Ye-Yeah_.” He coughs at the use of his shot voice, and Noct frees an arm to rub his back.

“You got it, Prom.”

He’s asleep within the next minute by lullaby of Noct’s steady breathing and heartbeat, but his best friend doesn’t stop with the comforting motions. If he sneaks a kiss to damp sunshine gold, Prompto’ll never know. When Ignis returns much later to check on them, neither will know the tender smile that graces his lips as he pulls the quilt down to better cover them both. The Advisor rests a palm on his forehead, pleased to note the change in temperature before moving to retrieve the abandoned mug.

It’s not the only change, of course, taking note of how far more relaxed and peaceful the two look compared to when he had been assured by Noctis that he could look after the sick blond himself, and so he had. Ignis is proud of him, watching for just a second longer as they snuggle closer before going to set the grocery bag of medicinal supplies on the counter to be perused through later.

Writing a note that all has been taken care of on his end in regards to Prompto’s classes and part-time jobs - discussions to be had later on _that_ front - Ignis glances back at the obliviously snoring boy before tucking it in with the items and takes his leave.

He has a meeting with a Mr. and Mrs. Argentum to plan.


End file.
